Eric Dimbleby - White Out

The Poor guy was hammered off his ass and ready to sleep a spell, and who could blame him?

Edgar’s snore was something of a roar, echoing through the living room.

Christian breathed deeply, relieved.

“Daddah?” Paulie asked. Christian looked down at him, smiling at the beautiful boy that was warming himself by the fire. “Eggah sleepin’?”

“Yeah, kid. He’s sleeping pretty good. What do you say we let him rest? He’s had a rough day.” With that, they scurried upstairs, curled up under the blankets with one of their flashlights, and read a book called “The Cranky Bear.” Paulie laughed at the story every time, especially when the aforementioned cranky bear woke up, angered to find that he’d been messed with.

Edgar yawned. He’d taken quite a nap, for almost three full hours.

Now that he’d removed his outer layers, Paulie could see a lot of blood seeping through his undershirt. “You huwt?” he asked Edgar.

“Don’t mind that. I spilled some jelly on me before I came to stay with you and your pop.”

“Stawbewwy?”

“Nope,” Edgar replied, “Raspberry. That sound good?” Paulie nodded. Yes, that sounded fantastic. He hadn’t eaten any peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in a long time, not since his Mama was still at home.

His stomach growled at the thought of a sandwich like his mother used to make, with the crust cut off and everything.

Paulie led him into the basement, keeping one step ahead of the man. He seemed like a tough sort of fellow, much more so than his Daddy. Paulie couldn’t remember ever meeting anybody like Edgar. He only knew friends of his parents and family members, but none of them was anything like Edgar. That wasn’t such a bad thing, so Paulie decided.

Edgar wore cool looking cowboy boots, so Paulie couldn’t help but ask a hundred questions about them. His father always said that it was rude to ask a lot of questions when you’re talking to adults, but Edgar seemed pretty excited about his boots. He said they were his special boots, and that he couldn’t ever think of being without them.

When they reached the bottom of the staircase, Paulie put up his hand to Edgar, indicating that he should stop where he was, just a couple of steps higher on the filthy old staircase. That way he could get a good look at the boots. There was a fancy design on the sides of them, with a horse and a guy riding that horse. It was hard to see it without squinting his eyes, but Paulie could make out the shape enough to know it was definitely a horse. He’d never been on a horse, but his father promised to take him riding one day. That day might never happen if it didn’t stop snowing.

“You takin’ a shine to my boots. That there’s a stallion, little man. In the old days, a stallion meant something important to the men of the world. It was a symbol. You know what a symbol is?” Edgar asked, looking down at the boy. When Edgar smiled, his teeth looked like they didn’t really line up right, like he had too many of them.

Paulie shook his head, still scrutinizing the design on Edgar’s boots, trying to imagine what kind of place would sell boots like that. They definitely couldn’t be found in the stores that Mama and Daddah went to. The clothes they sold at those places were boring. Edgar was probably the least boring person Paulie had ever encountered.

“A symbol is something that means something else. Like a stallion is a symbol for a tough guy, like me. There’s lots ‘a other symbols in the world. Like a rainbow means gay folks.” Paulie had no idea what gay-faulks were. “The cross,” he said, pulling a thin brown necklace from inside of his shirt. It had two wooden sticks that were crossed in the middle, “The cross stands for Jesus Christ, and how he died for us. There be symbols like these everywhere, kid. You just gotta look real fuckin’ close.”

Paulie knew that word.

Daddah used it once when he slammed the big hammer against his thumb, while he was fixing his mother’s wobbly dresser drawers. That wasn’t a good word, but it was okay because Edgar was a nice guy. His father said that sometimes adults used that word, even though it was bad, and it didn’t necessarily make them bad guys.

“Are you a scallion ?” Paulie asked, knowing that he messed up the word. Edgar half grinned at this, once again showing his silly looking teeth. The big man in the big boots knew that Paulie had messed up the word as well.

“You bet I’m a stallion. Stallion is a kind of horse, but much tougher. A stallion can survive, no matter what the hell happens around him. A stallion stomps hard and runs harder. Shit, kid, a stallion is standin’ right in front of you. Hells bells.”

Those sounded like more words that his mother had warned him about. Paulie asked, “Daddah a scallion ?”

Edgar exhaled through his nose, looking past Paulie. “Where did you say your pop kept those fancy rich-boy logs at, anyway? It’s getting mighty nippy in here. I already froze to death once out there.” He came down from the stairs, passed Paulie, and patted him on the head. Edgar smelled just like his boots. Or maybe the boots just smelled like him.

“In here,” Paulie said, leading Edgar across the messy basement. He’d been really bad about leaving his toys out since his mother was away. She was always on his back about putting everything in its proper place when the day was through (she would sing this song called “Clean Up, Clean Up, Everybody Do Your Share”), but his father didn’t follow that rule the same as she did. That was okay, because putting stuff away at the end of the day didn’t make a whole of sense, especially if Paulie was going to pull it all out again after breakfast the next day.

Paulie reached the door, turning the knob and looking back at Edgar. Edgar looked very happy when the door opened. He looked like he might start laughing at any second, and that would be okay because Paulie hadn’t laughed in a long time. Paulie loved to laugh.

“Wouldn’t ya’ look at that shit? He must have a couple hundred logs in here,” Edgar said, rubbing his hands together, sort of hopping from toe to toe like he was standing on hot coals.

“Daddah says be puhpart .”

“I think you mean prepared,” Edgar corrected him. He looked at Paulie like his eyeballs might pop right out of his head, like he was some kind of crazy cartoon character.

Paulie repeated after Edgar, focusing on the way he said the word, “ Puh-parrred .”

“Your Daddy ain’t prepared for me,” Edgar said.

“Food too,” said Paulie.

Edgar looked down at him again, his eyes turning bigger than the moon. Now that Paulie thought about it more, it reminded him of the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood. That was the way the wolf looked when it was waiting for Riding Hood, sitting in her grandma’s bed dressed in a nightgown, licking his chops as he waited for his trick to pay off. Paulie never looked at that storybook because it scared him too much. That and the one with the little kids lost in the woods by themselves, the ones that are taken by a witch until they throw her in the fire. Paulie couldn’t help thinking about those mean stories lately.

“Yes, m’boy. Show me that food. If it’s half as impressive as that there stack of logs, I’ll be sticking around here awhile. I reckon you and I will get to know each other real good.”

Paulie liked the sound of that. Edgar was a really nice guy, and he talked real interesting too. Not to mention those fancy boots he wore.

Edgar, after all, was a scallion .

Paulie looked out the window, longing for the wonderful springtime his father had promised him. He could remember what it was like… only a few months ago before the cold had invaded. There was an absence in his life, of being outside, taking in fresh air and enjoying the warmth of the sun. He would always wake up on sunny days, working in the garden with his father, digging for worms, and he would tell his mother, “It’s bee-ute-tee-ful outside, Mammah!” She would laugh when he said that. He missed his mother’s infectious laugh, even more than the way she tickled him and nuzzled him when the scary monsters crept around the world of his dreams.